


A Viper's Bite

by redhouseclan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: All The Ships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexuality, Disney Songs, Disney/regular songs are a must, Dragons, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Greek Myths, House Martell rules, Magic, Multi, OC name is a homage to the future ooooh, Oberyn for equal rights, Oberyn groupie, POV Alternating, Pining, Protective Tormund Giantsbane, Rhaegar hate, Smut, Time Travel, Total crack!fic kinda, a brown girl in westeros, all of Dany's fuckboys, creepy hot old guys in westeros, first got fic, he needs an ass kicking and my oc has steeltoe boots, i hope my oberyn is not a crap ooc, i mean have you seen pedro's neck, kinda ms but not, mama to sand snakes, modern girl in westeros, should i save khal drogo, sort of deja vu or whatever vu it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:29:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22968517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhouseclan/pseuds/redhouseclan
Summary: A sarcastic, dagger wielding, insomniac OC literally gets blasted into Westeros pre-bitchy Rhaegar days, what's a girl got to do to save House Martell from being wiped out by Fate? First, find the love children of one lusty Dornishman and beat the Lannisters at their own game. Night King who? Protective Tormund and hot Bronn are bros.
Relationships: Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Bronn (ASoIaF)/Original Female Character(s), Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Grey Worm/Missandei, Joanna Lannister/Tywin Lannister, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Oberyn Martell/Original Female Character(s), Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark
Comments: 53
Kudos: 189





	1. The Dornishman's Baby Mama

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into the world of GOT. I literally just wrote this two hours ago. Not beta'd, sorry for typos and stuff. Totally AU. Oberyn's 20 now, my OC's 19/20, and that's all the clues for now, you obviously can tell who's who if you know the story/series. 
> 
> Let me know if you have any ideas or things you want to see later on. 
> 
> Gracias!

The first time in many moons which Oberyn allows himself to reminisce about his dear friend is the day before his sister’s wedding to the Bard Dragon of the Red Keep. Lost amidst the trailing gowns of noble ladies and bulging belling of the lords, he splays across a chaise in the garden sipping on Arbor Gold. Ignoring the passing flirtations and wandering eyes of the more uninhibited guests, he sits alone. Wary of his famous temper and forlorn of a missed chance of pleasure the looks begin to cease and eyes shift to easier prospects.

Of the rare times spent in silence bereft of the warmth only a lover can give, Oberyn doesn’t give it a thought, his warmth comes from the searing sweetness of fine wine and moments long past. His mind is a whirl of long wavy black locks cut so oddly and choppily that she must have cut it by hand, her short stature and curves were not marred by the scars they carried on her sun-kissed copper skin, yet the feature that stood the test of time in his heart and mind were her eyes. Brown eyes that are seen every day in Dorne, not only did they appear orange in her anger save for the gold when they gleam with happiness, but the age they held was what surprised him most of all. As if they took in the end of days and lived to see the world beyond. Eyes that beheld the dangers of the world as well as the joys.

It was little more than past his twentieth nameday, after his return home to Sunspear when he was graced with her presence. A few moons past his exile in Essos and five years barring the Yronwood incident he was meet with a sarcastic, feisty woman the same age as he, not that he knew it at the time.

Leisurely walking the bazaar and taking in the spices wafting in the heat of summer, he was relishing in the sensation of seducing a fair-haired noblewoman off the merchant-ships hailing from Volantis. They left port that very morning, heated kisses were shared before he took his leave from her bed after a sennight of passion.

The soothing cadence of chatter from the stalls was interrupted by the screech of a child. Halting in his steps, Oberyn turned to see a child of six running from a incensed fruit merchant with only the glee and swiftness a child her age beheld, cradling a single blood orange. In one fell swoop, he gathers her in his arms with a laugh, before introducing himself. The merchant comes to a full stop recognizing his Prince, who gives him a few coins for his trouble and takes his leave.

“Greeting little one,” he says to the squirming girl in his arms, “I am Oberyn, and what can I ask is your name?” Her tiny face scrunches, her nose oddly familiar. Shaking her curls she states, “Aunty Apple says not to talk to strangers.”

Shifting his stance to sit her higher upon his arm, he looks over the crowd walking to and fro from the bazaar, not voicing the oddity of the Red Viper carrying a toddler in his arms, “She sounds like a wise woman, I wonder if she knows where you have gone? Hmm? A girl as small as you might be mistaken for a melon or fireplum.” He teases and taps her nose. Giggling she squirms from his arms to the ground, Oberyn releases her gently. She dusts herself off and straightens her tunic. Her black curls bounce in the sunlight, a guilty grin appears on her lips.

“You’re silly,” looking around as well, she gestures for him to kneel then whispers in his ear, “my Apple tells me to sit still, she’s asking the man with the shiny clothes where to find my father. But I saws a puppy and an orange. My Apple loves oranges. She always smells like them.”

Oberyn keeps that thought in mind, wondering why a girl has her aunt searching for her father. Was he a sellsword or a lusty, swarthy traveler? Or mayhap her aunt has some secrets of her own, besides smelling of sweet citrus.

“Truly?”

She nods happily, “Do you think she will let me keep the puppy?” A small pout appears on her lips as she sees the pup is no longer in her sight if he didn’t adore her before he is completely enthralled by her now.

“Should we go see where your Aunt has gone off to? I am sure she is very worried, a precious girl like you must be such a treasure to her.”

Not caring that dust and grime coats the hem of his silk ornate robes, Oberyn holds out his hand, letting the child decide whether or not to take it. As a boy, he found that patience is the key to gaining what he wants—trust.

Without an ounce of hesitation she grips his fingers, he stands to his full height while she leads him in the direction of her Apple.

They have walked past a few Dornish spearmen, when questioned by the Prince they point down the path towards the inns. The child is babbling about her travels and people she’s met along the way. Chirping just like the birds in the trees.

“You sailed in from a ship from Oldtown? I imagine that was quite the adventure.” Slowing his stride to match hers he ponders her words.

“Yes, but my Apple kept me by her side the whoooole time,” she says throwing her arms out as if she’s about to take flight, “I didn’t mind, I like staying with her. Only…” she trails off, her brow furrowed.

At this he stops and bends down, her words give him pause. “Only what, little one?” Thinking the worst he starts to speak before she interrupts.

“There was a mean man, he always looked at me, he kept trying to come closer, I didn’t like it. So I told my Apple, she said ‘not to worry, Obie, I’ll talk to him.” The small fist twisting the hem of her tunic suddenly grasp his hand to continue walking, the orange clutched firmly in the other hand. Her solemn mood long forgotten.

A frown twists his handsome features, a dark look burns in his eyes. “So did she? Talk to him, I mean?”

Bobbing her head and skipping alongside him, she agrees. Obie likes how this Oberyn talks to her like a grown-up just like her Apple does. “Oh yes, the next day he wasn’t there no more. Aunty Apple said he decided to swim with the fishies insteads of staying on the ship. Do you think he found a mermaid? My Apple says mermaids are real, but not to call a merman a maid or else they might cry.”

Her words soothe the anger in his heart, quick to calm his storming thoughts. _Swim with the fishes?_ _More like a dagger to the heart and tossed out to sea._ His interest in her aunt grows more by the second. He hums with approval.

“Your Apple sounds like Nymeria reborn, little one,” she squints up at him with a few teeth missing, and nods. Coming to a stop at the first inn, he asks her if she recognizes where she is staying. Before she can answer she is running into the open arms of a petite woman, dropping her prized fruit. She is much younger than he thought, closer to his age if not a few years behind. He retrieves the lost orange and walks towards the pair.

“Oh my Gondor, Obie! Where have you been?!? I’ve been looking everywhere for you? You scared the fluff out of me!” The woman squeezes the girl so hard, Oberyn flinches in sympathy before coming to a stop a few feet from them. Observing the near-suffocation of the girl, _Obie_ his mind supplies, he looks over her Apple.

He instantly notices that she carries herself differently than other maidens her age. More sure of herself and less meek. Like a jungle cat from Yiti not a butterfly from the Summer Isles. Her wavy black locks are shorn into uneven layers to her shoulders, from her outfit of a once-white tunic and black leggings he can make out a much more feminine figure befitting a paramour rather than an adventurous aunt Obie makes her out to be. Scars of all sizes are scattered on her arms, in a pattern that bears a resemblance to a spider’s web. Her skin as tan as his, a traveler’s tell. A pack is on her side, most likely carrying the little valuables they own.

“With Oberyn!”

Her eyes flash in recognition at the name as she catches sight of his looming figure. _Interesting._

Quickly rising from her crouch, she makes to hide the child behind her, a good idea if only the child stayed there. Obie smoothly pulls away before standing next to Oberyn, holding onto his robe. Smiling at her aunt, she reintroduces him.

“This is Oberyn, he saved me from the pirate,” at this declaration both adults’ eyebrows raise in surprise, “we gots you a treasure, here!” She elbows his hip, eyes pointedly staring at the orange in his hand, which he hands over, fingers softly grazing. He plays along.

“Yes, this little adventurer surely knows her wares when she sees them. A fearsome pirate we defeated, no?” Looking down at Obie, he is happy to hear her squeal with joy.

“Yes! We used our spears to get the treasure, my Apple! I rescued Oberyn from the mean pirates and we founds the treasure!” Obie mock fights in front of the pair, swinging her imaginary spear in an arc before finding its mark in the pirate's skull. Obie supplies the squelching sounds for greater effect. Oberyn smiles in surprise, wondering how the girl knew the movements of spear-fighters.

“Oh really? And does this make Oberyn your damsel in distress, Obs?” He dismissed the similar nickname his Elia calls him, finding it oddly enticing on this stranger’s lips. She cocks her hip, one hand full with the fruit and the other falling away from the hidden dagger behind her back. Recognizing that he wasn’t an immediate threat, trusting in the intuition of her beloved charge. She boldly holds his gaze.

Scratching at his scruff, Oberyn clears his throat, a touch embarrassed. “A damsel, she says? If the savior in this story is Obie, I will gladly be the damsel,” he smirks at the woman, who’s cheekbones flush a light peach. Her eyes light up to a rich brown, almost golden in color. “Does this fair maiden have a name?” He questions, “Or shall I call you Apple as well?”

“Gods no, only Obie calls me that. Given that she was a babe when she said it, it’s a name that’s stuck.” She puts the orange in the pack, grabbing her charge's hand before she can run off again. “It’s Apollonia.”

“Apollonia,” He drawls out her name with his accent, “a name a unique as the one who bears it.” Her cheeks flush again, Oberyn is beginning to like making her blush.

Shaking her head, she thanks him. Seeing the sun begin to make its way slowly across the sky to strike noon, she starts to leave. “I thank you for returning Obie to me, not many would do that.” A dark look clouds her face, her grip tightens on her charge reassuring herself she is there. “We really must get going, we have to meet someone important.” They begin to make their way into the inn.

The smooth sandstone walls reflect the heat of the sun and amplify the echo of the gulls.

The thin wooden slats do little to calm the sun’s rays. Oberyn can’t help his curiosity regarding these two females. He must know where they are going, to see the girl’s father maybe? Elia always tells him not to pry into others’ business, ‘what else is there for him to do when they discuss it in front of him?’ he tells her.

“Wait.”

Turning around at the entryway that is remarkably less busy at this time of day, as most people are at the bazaar or inside cooling off, Apollonia tilts her head. “Yes?”

“If it pleases you two, I would like to offer my assistance in guiding you to your very important _someone_.” Bowing dramatically, he winks at Obie who giggles. Glancing down at her little treasure hunter, who is completely smitten with the kind and handsome well-dressed stranger, she kneels down to ask her opinion.

“So, Obs, do you think we should have our damsel be our guide now? I’m sure we’ll be just fine either way, albeit a little slower.”

Oberyn finds it fascinating that Apollonia treats Obie as an equal. Most people outside of Dorne often dismiss children as less. He can see how much love is in both of their eyes, and how happy the girl is to be asked her opinion and have it matter.

Biting her lip, Obie blatantly glances at Oberyn as if seeing him for the first time. “Do you pinky promise to take care of us?”

“What is a pinky promise, dear one?” He has never heard of this type of oath. Seeing his confusion, Obie sorts it out.

“My Apple says it’s a promise you can never break no matter what.” Lifting her chin, Obie dares him to deny her explained. With a chuckle, he agrees, “Very well, if it’s a pinky promise you require, a pinky promise you will receive.” Crouching down as well, so they are all at the same height makes for an amusing scene. Especially for the innkeeper who observes her prince being less princely and impulsive with his affections. She dearly hopes he does settle down. Her two customers have become very dear to her in the two weeks they spent in her lodgings. It appears that they have finally found what they’ve been searching for, given that the room has been emptied and paid off.

Once they entwined their pinkies, promises made, they make their way uphill. Obie runs ahead, making sure to stay close while the remaining two pick their way through the alley leading past the bazaar.

“As we are headed back, may I ask where you intend to go? Obie tells me you are here to find her father?” Oberyn questions, his boots softly clicking on the cobblestone path, robes swishing with every step. Apollonia peers down at the gold belt glinting low around his hips. Tiny suns linked together.

Releasing a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, she answered, “To the Sandship, the Tower of the Sun or maybe a study, I’m not sure at this point.”

Freezing for an instant, Oberyn quickens his stride to catch up. “To House Martell? What matters call you there?” His mind whirling, surely the child must be one of the servants or squires get? Natural born children are just as cherished as their legitimate siblings.

“Yes. Are you familiar with the Martells?” She turns to look at him, her face questioning. She grips her bag, no doubt learning from others the ways of pickpockets and thieves.

“Some might say that, yes. Do you have an audience with Prince Doran?”

“I thought the ruling monarch was Princess Elvira, his mother? She is well is she not?” Brows furrowed in mild confusion, she calls Obie over as they make their way closer to the palace. Once she’s in her Apple’s grasp, Obie grips Oberyn’s left hand too, as if it he was always there.

Seeing Oberyn scratch at his well-groomed beard at her slight interrogation, a _tell he makes when he’s nervous_ she thinks, he answers.

“Well yes, she is, but recently she has stepped back to let Prince Doran have run of the Palace to prepare him. He was always the most well-suited for management, had a head for numbers and people.”

“You know him well, I take it?” Shrugging his shoulders, an informal gesture for a formally dressed man. Apollonia can’t help but find it endearing.

They make it to the gates before they get the chance to thank Oberyn and bid adieu, the Palace guards bow.

“Greetings, Prince Oberyn, your brother, Prince Doran requests your presence in his study upon your return.”


	2. A  Lost Little Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMG. This. I have more. So two updates today.

_“Greeting, Prince Oberyn, your brother, Prince Doran requests your presence in his study upon your return.”_

He feels two small hands slip from his grasp, leaving them bereft of his newfound friendship. The sun could be blazing hellfire now, for all he feels is naught but an icy stab of regret in his belly. _Odd,_ Oberyn muses, he rarely feels so strongly for strangers especially of those known to him for a mere afternoon.

He sighs, half in exasperation at the guard’s cheek and half in dread of his new friends’ reactions. His brother must have received word of his impending arrival from the port master. He grimaces in regret for neglecting his duties the past few days if this is how today of all days, treats him. With a wave of his hand the guards are dismissed and resume their previous positions in silence.

“ _Prince_ Oberyn?” The little adventurer drawls, he hears a smile in her voice, as they begin to walk further into the palace courtyard. He notices that she now has her tiny ward on her hip and shortens his stride. In one of his moods, he forgets himself as he quickens his pace.

Raising his hand in a placating manner, Oberyn stops and turns to face them. His lips are poised to whisper sweet words of apologies and little nothings before she steps closer, halting a hand’s width away from his chest. Brown eyes glint with drops of honey and _knowing_.

In surprise and intrigue, Oberyn remains still. Quiet. Interest lights up his eyes and a smirk curls his lips as she begins to circle him. The little adventurer has cornered the Viper. _Let us see how well she can charm this snake._

Slowly she makes her way around to his back, her arm brushing against his. A small giggle escapes from Obie, the sound lighting up the atmosphere and his heart.

“Hush, Obie. We’re supposed to be vexed at him, aren’t we? After all, isn’t it the right of a woman to _punish_ a man for his…offense?” Oberyn hears the laughter she’s suppressing as her voice carries, her little huff of air felt through his thin robes to the nape of his neck. The scent of oranges wafts in the air delicately. He shivers not from the cool ocean breeze but from her words. _Punishment has never sounded so good from lips so sweet._

Apollonia and Obie appear on his left side, whispering to each other in a low tone intertwined with the occasional giggle. The mixture of flowers and vines frame them perfectly in his view as if they’ve been planted just for them. Black curls and waves of both dark-haired beauties blow in the breeze, tangling and clinging to each lock of hair it can.

Before he can utter a word, he sees Doran and Elia from the corner of his eye, walking on the upper balcony overlooking the courtyard. They cease their walking and talking to watch them from above, amusement and curiosity color their faces.

_Her voice_ breaks him out of their combined gaze of entertainment.

“We’ve decided, your Royal Highness, your punishment,” Apollonia states once they make their way in front of him again.

“Oh, really? So soon? You do not wish to take your time? Perhaps think it over for a night…I am a patient man, I can wait.” He smiles, seeing her blush as she holds her gaze steady to his.

Obie grasps handfuls of her aunt’s hair and nuzzles into her neck, smiling.

“I’m sure you are. But time _is of_ the essence, my good sir. We’ve,” she nods to the child, “decided that we would like you to take us to the beach.”

“The beach? Not a chest of jewels and silks or perhaps a _tongue for_ a lie?” he jests as they both share a look of twin disgust and laughs. Oberyn is baffled, his acquaintances usually wish for such riches when in his company. He indulges them for they are beautiful women and men who deserve to have beautiful things. Their wish to see the beach puzzles him in its’ simplicity and innocence.

Melodic laughter bursts out in waves, echoing in the courtyard and warming its occupants like the sun in the sky. His siblings stare at Apollonia in interest and _interest_ , her merriment breathtaking in all its glory. Obie’s laughter akin to ringing bells. A feeling of possessiveness fills his being, with a sharp look to his siblings he dares them to try anything.

Calming themselves they step closer. He resists reaching out to grasp Apollonia’s waist. Never in his life has he been so intrigued by someone who doesn’t wish for a favor or gifts in return for his attention or the passion he readily offers.

She peers up through her lashes to study his face. Her eyes become serious as her merriment fades to a sudden realization. Far be it from him, a prince, to be on the receiving end of pity. He starts to square up his shoulders and plant his feet in response, readying himself for----he doesn’t know what.

“Do you think we require more than what we already have, my prince?” she asks quietly, words uttered so gently he almost didn’t catch them. Her gaze softens on his face, taking in his strong jaw, high cheekbones, his dark brow, full lips, and his eyes. His youth. His eyes have seen much, but therein lie the truth. Eyes that see much, yes, but know less.

For all his mastery of the arts of the maesters, Apollonia knows that Oberyn has much to learn. After all, being a well-traveled highborn son, second though he is, he has yet to know the gnawing pain of hunger not from deprivation of being a sellsword but of having _nothing that_ anything will be done to feed the ones you love, he has yet to learn of loss not born from a lesson to be learned but from having everything taken on a whim by those with power and status, that when you have nothing, have been told you’re nothing and feel like nothing so much that your dark, cold world can only be lifted and warmed by those that stay by your side and give of their own plate and cup. When all have abandoned you and you find those that stay are worth more than all the treasures in the world. They are all you need.

A lone tear falls down her cheek. Oberyn looks past the tear to her eyes that appear to age in front of him. Gone is the blushing seductive young woman, here now stands a woman with worldly eyes that seem to have witnessed the worst the world has to offer and yet…here she is, kindness and purity incarnate.

A small hand wipes away the tear. Obie looks at her hand to her aunt’s face, her tiny face scrunched in sadness and looks to him to fix it. Deep brown, almost black eyes narrow at him to _hurry and make it better._ Eyes that look like his.

_Oh._


	3. A Lesson in Fatherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the second update thing, I was so on a roll for writing it that day but my sister had an anxiety attack and omg the drama with my family. Apologies.  
> I am writing this off the top of my head as well, I have a general idea of where it’s going but chapter to chapter is me just BSing my way through Westeros much like an OC would. I want to ditch the magic amnesia bit bc I’m an impatient beyotch with a hella lot of pop culture to add to this backwards (Dorne is the exception) podunk world, I need to liven up the plot.   
> Sirius-ly though, Oberyn is baby and a bit of a himbo when it comes to sex and romance, like Don Juan but just a one-nighter guy and Apollonia knows this. But he takes to fatherhood like only a Martell Prince can, with badassery and a healthy respect for a mama bear.  
>  I’m thinking of young Brandon Stark and Robert with their reckless rich boy/ playboy ways and I just hope Oberyn gives off a more mature vibe than them. Like as a Dornish boy he is now is the starter package to becoming the elegant, fun and respectful Sugar Daddy we all love.

_Oh._

His entire demeanor stiffens as her features spark recognition within him.

His breathing becomes shallower, a hint of fear flashed across his face as he soaks up Obie’s small form from her curly black hair with a widow’s peak, her olive skin, her dark eyes so similar to his and last but not least her dimples.

Apollonia admits that Obie’s sweet mother possessed those same dimples as well. Her heart breaks a little with the loss of her old friend.

Before another of her tears follow, she catches Oberyn’s hand with her free one and nudges Obie forehead with hers. She feels his chest expand with a deep exhale, blowing her inky strands across her face.

The lush garden plants grow headier as the summer heat increases their potency. The exotic scents of Dornish roses perfume the heavy air as a gentle breeze sways the palm leaves into a lazy dance.

Time stands still, for every beat of Apollonia’s heart it echoes in Oberyn’s grasp. A calm rhythm pulses within her wrist grounding his racing heart.

His body is primed for a fight with no opponent. Helplessness is a feeling he is unaccustomed to and he never wishes to be in its presence again. Oberyn dares to take another look at the girl, wondering if she knows who she is to him and he to her.

A child, _his child_ after all this time. If not for Apollonia he would have next to no knowledge of her. It tears him apart that for the past four or five years she has been without him, he has missed her first steps, first words, her first spear. From the little show she put on at the inn, he is sure she has learned a thing or two about it from her aunt or possibly her mother.

Regret.

Another emotion that tints his vision. An ugly throb of blue and purple ignite in his gut, leaving a bitter taste of bile in his mouth. He remembers nothing of her mother. Old Town holds a vast foray of sleepless nights locked in passionate embraces of faceless lovers.

Oberyn steadies himself in Apollonia’s hold as nausea rises in his stomach.

His thoughts are aimed at the numerous times he has lain with others, with no consideration of the consequences besides the pleasure. _How reckless has he been? How many siblings does she have hidden away in almost every corner of the world?_ Barring the far North, he had no luck in bedding a Northerner as of yet.

Bastards have been accepted in Dorne for generations that the name Sand is all but common. No, a natural-born child is not the issue he objects to, it lies in the fault of his own ignorance.

The neglect of provisions and acknowledgment that his child has lived without for years has him shaking his head. He never wants a child of his blood to think of themselves as forgotten or unwanted. Fuming at his carelessness Oberyn clenches his jaw so tight that the two females hear a pop.

A small squeeze to his hand shakes him out of his silent self-flagellation, this time accompanied by a tiny pat to the cheek from a child-sized hand. Letting out a teary laugh, he covers Obie’s hand with his, giving it a gentle kiss.

“Aunty Apple, is he okay?” Obie whispers loudly, as children do, unaware of the shocking revelation she has caused to her new friend.

Apollonia drops his hand softly to brush the stubborn curls behind Obie’s ear as he looks at her reverently. “The Prince is having a moment, Obs. Do you know what that means?”

Bopping her head once, “It means he needs a hug and for me to play for a bit?” Her feet kick in anticipation of climbing the tree she spotted as they walked in the gates.

“Yes,” she shifts Obie to her other hip, “He needs a big hug before we see his big brother, we need to tell him about our adventures, remember? And after you may play, deal?”

The tiny toddler nods so fast Oberyn panics for a moment until the child holds out her arms in the fashion that all children know to do in order to be picked up. With a glance at Apollonia, who smiles, he cradles the toddler as if she’ll blow away in the wind at the slightest breeze.

Small, spindly arms tighten around his neck in an unexpectedly strong grasp that both surprises and impresses him.

Obie twists around to her aunt in a ‘you see I can listen so can I play now’ way that brings both adults to laughter. Despite her small size she gracefully hops from his arms, steadying herself against his long legs before running to the steps leading up to the second level.

“Doran knows?” he questions as hurt colors his tone.

Apollonia had known that finding out in this way would give him a shock, it would give a shock to anyone, but to be left floundering in the unknown and at the last minute would definitely hurt more. With a sigh she meets his intense gaze.

“Your grace, with all due respect, it was decided between your brother and I that we discuss the best way to break the news to you first. We’ve only conversed through a letter or two, he thought it best to see Obie first in case,” she hesitates, twisting the hem of her shirt, looking towards the upper level where Obie’s dark curls bounce around as she flees from potted plant to potted plant.

A hand covers her own once again as he sighs, “In case she was not mine.” His hand tightens before withdrawing to his sides. Did they think he has so little honor that he would cast away a child? Not every dalliance was something to throw away, he knew he possessed a reputation as a brazen flirt and infamous lover, but to think his own family thought so low of him? A pain stabs at his breast, piercing in its depth and strike.

Oberyn chuckles darkly, “I am well aware of what the public says behind my back as well as in front of it, imagine my surprise when it’s believed by my own family.”

Her eyes snap up to his only to find that he was watching his daughter closely. She saw the curiosity and pain on his face, in the small crinkle between his brows and pout of his lips. His cheeks and jaw covered in stubble as if he was away for days. Looking closer, she sees the wrinkles in the smooth silk, a red stain on his collar, the clumsy buckling of his belt, and a faint scent of sickly sweet perfume. _Oh._

She knew what to expect when meeting Oberyn, she was warned of his reputation among both sexes and his charm. What confuses her the most is her reaction to his state of dress, it is definitely styled as “the walk of no shame” and he has none, shame that is, being a passionate and well-off man in a world that caters to them.

Only the feeling burning in her belly, not quite jealousy but not so much as possessive, gives her a feeling of butterflies she shouldn’t be feeling at all. _Or it could be heartburn?_

“Is that something you really think?” she asks.

“What else is there?”

“That’s a good question, one I can easily answer.” She blinks as he turns to her a bitter smirk on his face. Changing his previously calm and gentle demeanor into someone else, more dangerous and arrogant. The Red Viper.

“Can you? Pray tell, let me in on such knowledge, little Apple?” Raising an eyebrow he tries to intimidate her by getting as close as he can and taking up as much space as he can. Having to look up to him hurts her neck, but she’d never let him know that.

“Very well,” she steps closer, irritated at his casual use of her nickname, and speaks so softly he unconsciously leans down to hear. “You say your family readily believes the worst of you? That they think you capable of cruelty and malice? They must obviously take care to keep you away from the products of your passion since you are such a lecherous monster in their eyes? That _I_ would subject the only being I love in this world to such a foul underhanded move for the sake of a man I have never met and therefore put their own wishes before my own judgment?”

At this accusation, no matter the burning in his heart, his blind anger falters. He sees the indignation and hurt reflect on her face. How odd that they have switched places in so little a time. He shakes his head, his muscles uncoiling from their tight hold, and steps back. His shoulders fall in embarrassment and exhaustion. This day has been a hurricane of emotions that he is lost in what he should feel.

Apollonia steps forward and reaches out to take his hand again, a step forward of comfort to his step back in silent apology. A move that comes naturally to them, as if they have always known one another.

They both fall silent. Eyes conveying words they couldn’t bring themselves to say aloud.

_I’m sorry._

_I know. I am as well._

The sound of Obie’s laughter rings off the stuccoed walls, mixing with the chuckles of both Doran and Elia. That jolts them back to reality.

She looks up at him then and is surprised to see the playful light enter his eyes again. The Red Viper has been tamed indeed, even if just for a moment.

It is Oberyn’s turn to look down at their clasped hands and back to her golden-brown eyes, a unique shade for someone who has the looks of a salty Dornishwoman.

“It seems we are in agreement then,” he says softly, with a small smile on his lips. Apollonia takes a deep breath. “We are.”

Taking his eyes off her to catch the serious look Doran is giving him, Oberyn straightens his robes and holds out his arm.

“It appears that we are needed in a counsel of sorts, my brother Doran and most likely my sister Elia, will wish to hear of how you came to find a child of mine. Shall we?” There was warmth in his voice tinged with weariness. Nervousness floods her system conflicting with the thrill of meeting more Martells. She takes his arm and he leads them confidently to ‘Doran’s stuffy study full of musty maps and books’ he states teasingly.

It was then she remembered one more secret she had left to tell and nearly flinched away from him. It seems that the storm has just begun and the day was not over yet.


	4. Into the Viper's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean...sorry it took so long. Too many things but it's handled. A semi-short chapter, I felt like it was a natural break, IDK. Let me know how the chapter is, I suck at separating POVS so it reads more script-y? in a way. 
> 
> Let's meet the Martells!

They enter the study, humbly dubbed in Apollonia’s opinion, because it looks like a freaking penthouse for the Beckhams.

Dozens of cushions and curved elegant furniture lay on top of intricate rugs so soft her boots sink inward. Joyful chatter mixed with sweet spicy scents draw her eyes to the low table ladened with food, it sat in the center of the famed Martell brood.

Aware that the tension in the room is at its peak of curiosity and suspicion she catalogs the room’s exits and the number of guards when she feels two pairs of dark eyes shift to their sudden entrance. 

One pair belonging to Elia, whose petite frame and fair face enhance her intelligent gaze as they rake over her dust clad figure. The people say she is plain and delicate but the ‘one who walks among vipers and receives no bites’ is an adversary _no one_ should underestimate.

Plain? What?

Are the people so blind they call a gorgeous woman like her _plain_?

Apollonia’s seen the so-called Wild Wolf Lyanna and Rhaegar on screen and they cannot hold a match to a bonfire like the Martells, they need some spice to get _that_ immaculate.

The other pair belongs to Doran, who stands tall at her entrance gesturing for them to take a seat on the chaise across from them. He is a few inches taller than Oberyn and to make up for his younger brother’s reckless streak, he radiates control and patience. She doesn’t miss his slow perusal either.

Why are they so beautiful??

Apollonia looks down at herself, sweaty and in breeches in front of actual royalty. The only House in Westeros that was never conquered? The audacity!

Her arm twitches in an effort to hide behind the strong figure next to her. He gives her arm a slight squeeze and a whisper of reassurance in her ear, a move doubling as a glare aimed at his older siblings in a warning to not take what he has claimed.

When a viper finds his nest disturbed, one should be wary of his strike.

Doran and Elia both share a look over their wine goblets, one that only a younger sibling can interpret as trouble with a capital “T”. His jaw clenches as he rolls his eyes in exasperation at their antics.

Apollonia, in her opinion, finds House Martell to have a hearty and voracious appetite for all of life’s pleasures; living up to Dorne’s reputation as a hedonistic nirvana for all who wander to the true South in Westeros.

If Oberyn’s possessive streak is anything to go by, as she did not miss the miniature showdown a moment ago, he might as well pee on her leg to further cement his territory. Not that she would allow herself to be claimed by the first pretty face to grace her presence, nor the last, even if that face belonged to a handsome Prince.

Her amusement is cut short as soon as she spies Obie in the arms of a beautiful older woman. With the sun streaming in from the open balcony doors, highlighting the silver threads in the woman’s black locks, like moonlight on obsidian fragments. A heart-shaped face with strong cheekbones and eyes lined in kohl, Elvira, Ruling Princess of Dorne, smiles at her. It takes all of her control to not tear Obie from her arms and run.

Logically she knows that they are blood, literally grandmother and granddaughter, but with the life they’ve led it’s seeing her baby niece in the arms of a stranger that brings out a protective streak, barring Oberyn who’s coiled presence oddly enough produces the opposite reaction to her fierce mood.

Seating themselves down next to one another, stiffly on her end and closely on Oberyn’s, a fact that is not lost on those in the room. Princess Elvira begins to pour a crystal goblet of water for her while Elia fixes her a platter of fruits, cheeses, nuts, and cold meats. Along with a slice of bread, spiced oil, and salt.

Oberyn leans over to murmur in her ear, his warm breath moist in the hot air, “Guest rights, my Apple, not that any harm will befall you here. Merely a formality of good faith on both ends,” he smiles lopsidedly, however small their argument was in the courtyard she did not hinder nor correct his usage of her nickname.

My Apple, indeed.

In her nervous state, she can’t bring herself to chastise him as his voice lends its tranquility to her. Meeting southern royalty (any royalty at all, really) has her on edge, Oberyn on one hand is just another man, but Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell is another man entirely. Not to mention meeting his family on the first day they discover one another’s existence and that of his secret love-child.

Her slightly shaky hand accepts the offering of peace with as much respect as possible. Eating enough food to satisfy the guest rights’ rule, it leaves a sour taste in her mouth. A pity she could not savor the spices Dorne is famed for.

Obie needs her to be at her strongest and she needs Obie to be accepted by her newfound family. Even if it hurts a bit to no longer have her to herself, Obie has family, stability, and a safe childhood ahead of her. Something Apollonia never had or could have given her in the long run, a thought that hurts her to admit.

Looking at the gathered Martells, Apollonia bows her head in deference to their mother, who gazes at her in amusement while stroking Obie’s curls. Her golden jewelry jingles at her wrists, the ring in her nose sparkles entrancing her young charge away from the discussion at hand.

“My youngest has a habit of collecting strays, you are not the first woman to bring a child to our door nor the last. If it is money you were aiming for, you will find yourself wanting still.” Elvira states in her accented tongue, strong words cloaked in elegance and edged in a warning.

Another reason to avoid reputable Houses, their wordplay hides insults and compliments alike. Doubly so in accordance with their moniker of Vipers of Dorne.

This statement delivered so bluntly surprises the younger Martell siblings so much that their eyes cut to their mother as outrage begins to simmer in Apollonia’s eyes, quickly extinguished by the cool look that takes over her face. Doran sips his wine, knowing where the conversation is headed. To him, a shared temper is a growing commonality between this strange girl and his youngest sibling.

_This one can hold her tongue whereas Oberyn strikes at each slight._

The fine goblet of water is clenched tight in her hand that minute cracks are heard forming in its surface. Before it shatters, the Princess speaks again, a grin paints her lips.

“Alas, being a mother of vipers, I can spot a snakeling who bears the blood of House Martell.”

“How so? I’d wager it’d be the Martell tendency for speaking in circles, _Your Grace_.” Apollonia grits out, nearly grimacing in her effort to remain calm. _How dare anyone think her to use a child as a pawn for easy money?_

_It appears I have spoken too soon,_ Doran sighs.

A small gasp escapes Elia. Oberyn’s head flicks between his mother and his new interest worriedly, this was not how he intended the visit to go.

No one, high or low-born ever talked to the Princess of Dorne in that way before. Elvira sees she’s no mewling common girl but one of sterner disposition. She only smiles, _if he feels that strongly he will need all the strength he has to contend with her in earning her trust if not her heart._

Slender fingers weighed down in heavy polished rings thread themselves in Obie’s curls, watching every move she makes as she plays with the bangles on her grandmother’s wrist. Berry juice coloring her fingers in shades of burgundy and violets.

“The eyes. As every Baratheon bears the stormy eyes and night-black hair, all Martells possess eyes as dark as coal and are marked by the Sun.” At this remark, all eyes look to the matriarch who lifts Obie’s short sleeve to show off her birthmark on her shoulder. To Apollonia’s eye, it appears to be a splotch of a darker tan in the shape of a jagged, wonky circle.

“Her birthmark? What of it?”

“It is the mark of House Martell, knowledge kept secret from outsiders. Shaped during the reign of Nymeria and Mors Martell, gifted to them from the Mother Rhoyne to their line to bind them in unity and strength. We are Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken for a reason.”

“The Rhoynar believed in water gods and goddesses, isn’t the Sun the opposite of that? Especially with the harsh history of the Red Princes.” One elegant brow arches at this comment.

Not many non-Dornish are keen to learn its history, she has the look and temperament of a Dornish lady, but her wording and character are not of these lands. A foreigner, she thinks. Oberyn also looks at Apollonia with something akin to awe. She’s seen her son infatuated before, but never has he looked at another as if they hung the moon and stars. _They are young still, soon they will know where their paths lie, together or separated._

Clasping her hands in her lap Apollonia avoids looking at the Martells, missing the look of both mother and son, instead, she tries to keep a grin from showing as Obie finds it hilarious to swish her water inside of her cup entranced by the shine of the crystal, splashing drops onto her grandmother’s lap. An act witnessed by the rest of the group, who chuckles at her youthful antics.

“Can you tell us the sweet child’s name and how she came to be in your care? I would love to hear more of her upbringing and of yourself if you would indulge us of course,” Elia speaks up, her lips curl up in curiosity as she sips her wine. Her statement is as diplomatic as it can be to smooth out the rough edges of their introductions.

Apollonia has come to abhor telling her tale, fabricating one in lieu of the truth. The illusion of choice speaks for itself, given that it was to be a meeting of only four people in this room, not six people she barely knows or trusts.

Wiping her palms on her legs, Apollonia clears her throat. She looks to Obie to get her attention.

“Preséntate, por favor. Then we will tell the story of how you came to be an adventurer with me, yeah?”

Obie, looks up from her cup and smiles a toothy grin. “Okay, my Apple. Will we speaks about the dragon Smaug and the hobbitses too?” She asks as she clambers down the lap of her grandmother, making her way to sit between her Apple and her Oberyn, her new favorite place to be.

Those stories may have put the little rascal to bed many a time, but as she was the only recipient of those otherworldly tales, most people are lost to her ramblings when recalling in her childish way.

“Sí, ad’ika. We can tell them of Bilbo and The Company later. As of right now, we can tell them of your mama and baby you, agreed?”

Obie nods, looking at each adult before speaking, “I am Obara, daughter of Alia. This is my Apple. Hmm… I am four. So this many,” she says holding up two fingers on each hand, “I like kittens and puppies, peaches, and baths.”

Four puzzled faces stare at them in bewilderment. One in delight to hear a story of a dragon she’s not had the opportunity to hear before in her childhood, one in both delight and shame, and two in suspicion at hearing another dialect of a certain banned Roynish language only spoken by elders in Dorne and the royal family members.

Oberyn’s eyes narrow and his breath comes out in a rush. He was not one for marriage or monogamy, but when it came to children— he so badly wanted to have one or more to spoil. Hearing that this precious child, born of his seed, bears a version of his name? How cruel can the gods be? He wants to throw himself from the ramparts for the disgrace of neglecting her for so long.

His mother looks to him as well. He could feel her gaze of approval at his daughter’s name. She may not know who he is to her yet, but before the night is through she will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish- I think would be more in line with their accents? OMG what if someone had a fresa accent? Spanish sounds like its the dominant lingual tree for now in Dorne with hints of Middle Eastern and South Asian for Essosi influence bc duh they Rhoyish traveled hella far to escape the Targaryens.
> 
> That's the ship I'm sailing and I'll go down with it. 
> 
> Translation-
> 
> Preséntate, por favor- Introduce yourself, please.
> 
> Ad'ika- Mando'a for kid or little one.
> 
> I'm super into The Mandalorian, so be prepared for hits of Mando'a. A little Din for my Pedro boost.


End file.
